


A little wicked

by Acnara



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cheeky Harry, M/M, Medieval AU, Power Dynamics, Snake Voldemort, Sort Of, Tomarry Big Bang 2018, Very Big AU, altar boy Harry, i guess, made up religion where gods/demons are a thing, mentions of violence and murder, not particulary sane or safe in the moral department but surely consensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 08:38:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16014299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acnara/pseuds/Acnara
Summary: Little Whinging prided itself on being a little bit extraordinary. Hidden en vast hills of Britain, people everywhere travelled to visit it. Rumor had it, among all the other villages in the country, Little Whinging had the most powerful deity of them all. One day, a magnificent church had appeared at the edge of the forest, tall and filled with marble and gold. A God had walked out of its doors and proclaimed itself their new Lord.Now, the remains of the church crumbled around the altar boy´s naked feet. Something had attacked, at night.Harry had the feeling that whatever had done so had yet to leave.





	A little wicked

**Author's Note:**

> *Slides into the big bang literally 2h before it closes* waddup
> 
> Shoutout to Chelle and Eve, who were up ´till 2am with me to beta this for my dumb ass because they like me or something. You guys are my world.
> 
> Valerie Broussard - A Little Wicked

 

Harry's steps resonated in the long, dark hallway like an ominous song. The bracelets on his wrist and ankles jingled with every movement and his light white clothes made him exceptionally aware of the cold. It almost made him want to look back, where he could still hear the voices of the rest of the altar boys who had been too scared to follow him. His leg stayed painless, though. Good.

He walked down the church’s corridors until he reached the main hall. Where the main hall  _ should  _ have been. Now a big, perfectly round circle covered the whole floor like an open mouth waiting to shallow any trespassers whole.

The temple of their Lord had been profanated. 

Harry stared at the void. Dumbledore wouldn't be pleased. The temple looked bad enough from the outside, but this? This was just sacrilegious. How would the old priest explain this to the people? The entity the whole village adored as their god had so clearly been banished from the walls of the church Harry's skin wanted to crawl with the emptiness of the room. The windows were shattered, the paintings on the walls splattered with a suspiciously dark fluid, like old blood. The altar wasn't even in the hall. The whole room smelled faintly of something he couldn't identify.

And then there was the low, humming sound coming from the hole beneath his feet.

Harry looked back once, half hoping one of the other boys would step out of the darkness and force him back outside. He took a step towards the hole, and then another, until his feet reached the very edge of it. It was too dark to see anything, but he could  _ hear _ something. He licked his lips, tip-toeing at what looked like the edge of the world.   


Their Lord was not here anymore. But whoever had banished It had yet to leave.

The corners of Harry's mouth trembled, and he jumped into the abyss.

He hit his knees on the fall, rolling down the rest of the sunken floor. A shot of bright, burning pain ripped through his left leg and made him bite his tongue to keep a cry of pain off his lips. There was dirt on his white uniform and dust in his lungs but he coughed it out, hurrying to stand up and look around. The original hall had been filled with treasures from all over the country. People travelled from all over the land to bring gifts to their Lord, hoping to find themselves blessed when they returned home. They brought their wealth to Little Whinging and attracted more and more of it when they left, singing praises to both the city and their God.

Harry could remember well how aunt Petunia’s eyes would widen in fear and envy every time she was obliged to accompany Harry to the temple. How would her or his uncle, greed driven people both, react if they ever saw what Harry was seeing? The shattered vessels spilling their precious oils? The broken wooden banks? How many times had uncle Vernon complained about the best fruits being delivered to the church? Well, they all now laid there, half smashed and utterly ruined.

They might even be happy. Harry pressed his lips tightly, taking the sunken hole in bit by bit. His damned leg was still burning, but it was early in the morning. Even after the fall, walking would still be relatively painless for some hours. 

There was a tickle at the back of his neck, like a playful finger trying to catch his attention, and Harry turned as if struck by lightning.

There was a tunnel. It had not been there a second ago, had it? At the end of the circular collapsed floors stood the entrance of a dark cavern, gold pouring at the sides of it. It looked like someone had carried some of the treasures the temple held in their Lord's altar inside of it. There were marks on the floor, as if something even bigger had been dragged inside the tunnel.

Harry could hear the other altar boys voices but they sounded so, so far away… muffled by the distance and the dark and his own beating heart. They might be shouting his name, had he been there for slightly too long? Or maybe they had hear him fall, his coughs echoing their way out of the temple even as he tried to contain them. He marched towards the opening with trembling knees. It was too late to back down now, had been for a while. If aunt Petunia had ever had a point about him in her entire life, that was when she called Harry nosy.

As he entered the opening he realized that he had been right. The temple's treasures had been brought down here. But not only the altar ones. 

The smallest amount of light came from some oil lamps, helping Harry recognize pieces of gold from every statue of their Lord. There were jewels and expensive fabrics and everything valuable their once glorious temple had ever held, scattered around the floor like meaningless rubbish. Harry had to climb over mountains of furniture and precious metals. A small part of him cursed, for he had not brought his walking cane with him. A bigger, prouder part kept telling him that whatever might be down there must not find him weak in any way. He would not limp, he kept telling himself. The mantra made it easier to ignore the ache certain movements caused. And then, just as he managed to detangle himself from a small mess of colorful silk, he saw it.

The altar. It was almost broken in two, standing proud in the middle of the tunnel. Behind it, the darkness seemed to consume more and more gold and treasures, much more than what their temple had ever owned. There were some lights here and there, too, but Harry couldn't tell if they were oil lamps or if they just  _ were _ . 

His feet moved on their own, and he found himself in front of the altar. This had been the jewel of their church. Legend said their Lord himself had gifted it to Dumbledore as a symbol of his blessing to be the head of the church, along with the gift of longevity and wisdom. And now it was broken. It laid there, in the middle of a dark tunnel, broken and forgotten. Harry graced the surface with his fingers in awe. Their Lord was truly gone. That was the only explanation possible. How else would he ever let this happen to the altar? The symbol of his might? Harry himself had seen the power their Lord held. There was no way this would have happened if He was still here, no way he would let a mortal like Harry witness his altar broken and bruised like this. To touch it before being bathed and scented, suitable for adoration. His pride _ ,  _ his respect _ — _

Harry's fingers caressed the broken edges of the once white as snow altar almost trembling. The  _ sacrilege. _ The wide crack on the stone standing like a grin. The  _ blasphemy. _

“Well. What do we have here?”

The voice was low, dangerous and smooth. It sounded so out of this world Harry fell to his knees without even blinking, his leg barely protesting at the impulsive movement. His heart beating so loudly he was sure the entity behind him could hear it. 

“You did it.” Harry's voice was trembling. Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything. Maybe the whole thing has truly been crazy. Was he going to die now? “You really did it.”

There was a loud laugh, and the sound of some metal drifting around. Was it getting closer?

“Grindelwald was powerful,” it was definitely getting closer, making the hair on Harry's neck stand on the end. “but he was also old.”

Those were steps, no doubt. Behind him. Circling him.

“Did you really fear you had summoned me for failure, child?” Harry didn't dare lift his eyes. He glared at his own knees, white cloth covered in dirt and caught the glimpse of naked, white feet standing on his right. He didn't dare to breath. He had never actually allowed himself to think about this moment. Success. It had always felt so impossible… 

Now what?

“Look at you.” The voice was purring, and Harry felt a shiver of fear run down his back. “Such a perfect posture. Chin down, good kneeling form… not relaxed, yet I can't see any tension in your shoulders. An altar boy, who would have thought.”

There was another laugh, and Harry clenched his teeth. It was mocking him. His leg burned beneath him, the rigid kneeling position required for altar prostration reminding him how a couple of months ago he hadn't even been able to stand. How he might never walk without pain ever again. He knew his posture was perfect. He had practised it after the incident, nights and days of excruciating pain so no one would be able to tell just how bad it hurt. 

And yet, the demon mocked him. Like his so called family, like the people in the village always did. Like Dumbledore, when he had begged the old man to install himself in the temple so he could be free from his aunt and uncle. Like his Lord Grindelwald had done after every offering Harry had made, even after—

“You seem like the perfect little boy. Is this what you did? Lie on your knees and adore Gellert, then go back to the woods and summon his demise? How long? How long did you deceive him like this, temper the blade you planned to stick in his back in your sweet prayers? What a wicked boy.” 

There was a hand in his hair, pulling, and Harry lifted his eyes with a cry.

“Look at me when I talk to you, child. You called me here… did no one teach you how rude it is to not look a guest in the eye?”

The entity was horrible— it had milk white skin and his big eyes glowed red in the dark. Harry would have screamed if he had any air in his lungs. It was tall, impossibly tall, and had a face smooth like a snake’s.   
  
... this was not the god he had tried to summon.

He had wanted to bring a canine dog, to fight Lord Grindelwald's bird nature. He had spend months researching canine gods among the old theology tomes in the monastery, making sure he was ready for this moment. He knew nothing about snake beings. He had performed the ritual with most care, yet something had gone wrong. This was not the god his mother’s old book had talked about.    
  
Harry had found the book when he was young, one night when he had escaped his uncle's wrath at something Harry had no control of. Why did he always get angry at him, when strange things happened on the farm? It was not as if Harry could control the animals, the growth of their plants, or the weather. Harry had hid in the attic, and in between Petunia’s old knitting patterns and Dudley’s broken toys he had found a box. It contained a lot of useless things, and some books. One, in particular, had caught his attention.A big demonology book filled with the history of what the book called Old Gods, or demons.    
  
Harry hadn't thought about that specific book in years. Actually, he had tried to push the whole memory about those findings in the attic out of his mind altogether for a long time. Until the fatal night he had dared to ask his Lord of freedom, that is.   
  
Once, Albus Dumbledore had found a small child crying under a tree and promised him that joining the church would smooth his suffering. Everyone in the town had only hated him more after he took the White, but at least he spent most of his time away from them. The kids at the altar didn't really like him but they behaved, and he only needed to see his family during some weekends to work on the farm and then go back to the temple to attend his duties. It was a good life. Good enough he had begged Dumbledore to take him as an apprentice for years, even though he knew it would never happen. And now, that life was about to end completely.   
  


His nineteenth birthday was approaching and with it, the end of the only safe heaven he had ever known. When he reached twenty he would be thrown out of the altar boys, and thrown back into the arms of his family.

  
The Dursleys owned him, by law. They had raised him when he was not their own, so he was forever in debt with them. The state and the church demanded it so. When Harry was old enough to be kicked out of the altar boys they would send him straight to work for them as their own field slave. Dudley _loved_ reminding him of it. He wouldn't be able to read or write ever again. He would be a prisoner again, blamed, beaten, ridiculed, starved and lonely.  
  
And when, even after everything, Lord Grindelwald refused… after the message he sent... Harry just hadn't had any other option but to make a change for himself.   
  
... he just had not planned it to be like this.  
  
"W-who are you?" He didn't meant for his voice to tremble like that, but his whole body was shaking. The creature smiled at him, its thin lips stretching across that scaly skin like a wound.  
  
"Who are you?" He mocked, toying with the words with a dash of cruelty. "Were you expecting the dog?"  
  
He had. He had performed the ritual in the book step by step, after all the failed attempts at summoning the stag god —its page had been marked in the book, so Harry had thought it might be easier to ease him a path to the human world. Big mistake. Then, he had aimed for the dog. Or at least the wolf.  
  
He hadn't even looked into the serpent section, seeing most of those entities clearly were higher demons. Mortals wouldn't be able to summon them by themselves.  
  
And yet.  
  
"How... What...?"  
  
"At first I couldn't believe you were planning on bringing _Padfoot_ to fight Gellert. And now I'm standing here in awe, _an altar boy_ of all things. The nerve of you, child... planning on stabbing your Lord in the back using the _dog_."   
  
Its smile was daunting, horrible, and Harry could feel his insides twist in shame.   
  
He had. He had committed not only treason but heresy. It was so scandalous he hadn't been able to sleep last night. When the demon’s grip on his hair seized Harry let his head fall forwards, guilt-ridden.  
  
"What a marvellously stupid plan that was. Knowing nothing about the other side, you decided to open a door..."  
  
… But he hadn't regret it at all when he had seen the temple destroyed. When he had seen the curtains buried under the remains of the floor he had thought _serves you right_.  
  
"...Look at what you invited in, b-b-boy. Look at me." The mocking stutter sounded like a slap on his face.  
  
When he had seen what he had done to his so called Lord he had felt _glee_.  
  
So when the demon—who only was here because he summoned it, Harry thought, only because _he_ had let it pass to the other side of the veil — grabbed his hair again and smiled at Harry as if he could just do whatever he wanted with him like everyone else in this fucking town did, his fear snapped. He had a plan. He had planned this, damn it. He had tried to be respectful, he had tried to get on the demons good side but screw it. His plan of playing the timid altar boy hadn't been that good anyway.  
  
He stared at those red eyes with pride burning under his skin. Another god had dared to underestimate him once, and now look where Harry stood: at the feet of Its broken altar, still covered in Its gold.  
  
_No, you look at me_ he thought furiously, the floor hard on his knees and the cold of the cavern creeping into his bones. His leg pulsating like a living being under him. _You look at me and ask yourself if you want to be next._ __  
  
Maybe the demon could read minds, for its eyes widened almost imperceptibly. It studied Harry's face, something near amusement at the corner of its lips.  
  
“... you wicked boy.”  
  
It let go of Harry's hair and stepped back, the small grin again giving his flat features an even more unnerving look. Harry followed him with his eyes as it circled him, the black fog-like tunic that covered him floating as it walked.  
  
“So, what do you want? I did my part. I slaughtered your beast. What else does your little heart desire?” there was the mocking tone, still, yet Harry didn't let it get to him this time. Their contract was over, for a mortal can only summon an god for one request if his mother's book was correct. Yet it was still there. It hadn't left, so the demon probably wanted what Harry was going to ask of him anyway. “What else can Lord Voldemort do for you, altar boy?”  
  
Lord Voldemort. That name sounded familiar, although he couldn't really tell why.  
Harry's heart was beating loudly in his chest. This was it. He had to be careful in dealing with the demon, but here was his chance. For once, he would get to choose what he wanted in life. If he only was careful. If he stood his ground.

“I have a proposition.” His voice was clear and Harry had never been more thankful. “You are not gone, yet. You wish to remain in the mortal realm.”

The demon’s smile just got wider and wider with each word, as if he couldn't contain the smug joy it was feeling. Harry almost had to bite his tongue to swallow an angry remark and it only seemed to amuse the being even more. 

“I've read. I've… seen things. I know what your kind, Grindelwald and the rest of the old gods need to remain here, free from that place on the other side. Here, where you can be more powerful than in your own world. I know what keeps you away from the veil.” 

Harry took a deep breath. He was suddenly hyper aware of the dust in the air, his dirty clothes sticking to his skin, and the thick aura of darkness around the creature. 

He had offered this same thing to Lord Grindelwald, not that long ago. To join Dumbledore on his duties. Substitute him even, if the lord wanted it so. He  _ was  _ younger, after all. 

Some of the scars he had gotten that night on his back still hurt. At the end of the day his leg burned so bad he fell asleep to sobs and tears night after night. Right then and there, standing in front of the demon he had summoned, his body trembled. But he was not afraid.

“I offer myself. Use me to drain life force from  this world and stay here, watching over our village.” Harry tried to make his smaller frame more imposing, trying to sound sure of himself, kneeling as he was. “Grindelwald was unreliable and picky. Rains came late, and they brought illness to the stock. Children died before they were even named and bandits attacked at night, unpunished. Take his place, look after us, and we will make you powerful.” he took a deep breath, curling his fists at the hem of his robes. “We will build and flourish for you, make sure your lands are always filled with life you can use to remain away from the call of the veil.”

“...Under one condition.” 

The snake demon was not pacing anymore. It just stood there, half covered in shadows, its red eyes gleaming with anticipation in the dark. Looking at him. That forsaking smile hanging on the edges of its lipless mouth.

“Yes?” it asked, amused, amused,  _ amused.  _

“Make me your High Priest.”

It came out all wrong. Harry had practiced for weeks in the forest, trying to find the best way to say those five little words. Hiding from his aunt and uncle, from Dudley and his friends, from anyone from the village, alone in the woods and his old book. Yet now the words sounded childish, insecure, as if he was not sure he should be asking for it. As if he felt guilty and sacrilegious just thinking about it.

He did.  _ He did. _

The demon opened its mouth, and laughed.

It sounded like thunder. It made gold vibrate and the ground beneath his feet tremble.  Harry was sure the echoes of the laugh would be carried outside of the temple and be heard by all of the other altar boys. So they all could join the entity in its mockery.

Harry was taken aback and jerked, his foot contacting painfully with the altar.

“W-what are you laughing at?” 

“You  _ are _ wicked. Vile.  _ Impious.”  _ the demon was grinning as if adoring it all. “I thought you would beg for the life of your dear Albus, yet here you are. Demanding his title for yourself. Where is the loyalty to your savior, child?”

He was frozen in place. The demon — Voldemort. It had called itself Voldemort— knew who Albus was. He had called him...

“What?” Harry whispered, suddenly very, very tense.

“Oh, you thought I didn't  know who was summoning me, Harry Potter?” Voldemort seemed unable to lose his cracked smile, and in the blink of an eye the being banished. “I know all about this little town.”

Harry stood up, quick like a frightened animal and turned around, trying to find the demon.  But it's voice clinged to the walls and seemed to be coming from every direction now. He took a step back. Two. Hiding behind every shadow Harry felt pairs of red eyes on him.

“All about it's little people.”

“Their little minds.”

“ _ You.” _

Harry's lower back slammed into the broken altar and he felt it, the low hiss of a breath on the side of his neck.

“ _ The son of the witch.” _

He turned around so quickly it was almost miraculous that he didn't break his neck.

“You take that back!” Harry hissed, pinning the laughing demon on the spot with a glare. The altar was between them, a now no-man’s land caught in the middle of Harry's fury and Voldemort’s venomous delight. “Don't you talk about my mother.”

“Why, because everyone else does it?” it mocked, its eyes hungry on Harry's face as if all the conflicting emotions flashing on his features were sweet as honey. “I know all about her, Lily Evans, the witch _. _ And her lovely son… the son of the devil _.” _

Voldemort looked like a child with a new toy, his smile showing a line of almost sharp teeth that might have scared Harry at some point. Before his mother was brought up.

“Poor Lily, mad Lily,  _ the witch, Lily. _ That's what they called her isn't it? What they still call her. Yet Dumbledore let you stay here, in their Lord's temple, knowing your mother had spread her legs for other gods-”

“MY MOTHER NEVER DID SUCH THING.” the scream was there before Harry could control it. Suddenly, he was not the almost twenty year old altar boy that had summoned a demon to get revenge on a god. He was 6, 9, 11, and he was getting chased by the kids in the village, he was being glared at by the passersby in the street, he was being locked in the cupboard and starved and ignored and mocked.

The son of the witch, was the title that had fallen on him like dirt on his skin everyone seemed to notice.  _ That hair, those eyes. Small, strange. Blasphemy in his blood, for sure. The son of the devil. A freak.  _ That's what people thought, and said, when they looked at him. 

Once upon a time, he had thought taking the white would make it stop. But even Harry himself had been wary the first time he set a foot in the church. His aunt had always told him Lord Grindelwald would burn him on the spot if he proved the vile sins of his mother true. 

“I see. Harry Potter summons demons, thinking himself a man, but throws fits like a child when his whore mother is brought up.” The words hurt. More than that, they stung.

“Quit calling me that.” He bit out. “My father abandoned my mother, I have no surname. I'm Harry. Just Harry. And why on earth would you even know his name?” 

“I know everything about you,  _ just Harry _ .” The pale hands, covered by small, polished scales, now that Harry could see them, came to rest on the altar between them. They looked so human, compared to the rest of the demon. Harry waited for it to explain further, but Voldemort only smiled.

_ Son of the devil. _ Harry knew exactly how Voldemort might know his surname. He didn't want to believe it. 

“So angry. So childish. Why would I want a High Priest like that?”

That snapped Harry out of his anger. Focus. He had to focus. Voldemort  _ could _ bond with some other mortal, but it was unlikely he would be able to find anyone around here willing to do it, not soon enough, anyway. It surely knew so. That could only mean that what his mother's book had said was true: the demons would try to trick humans into slavery, not partnership, while bonding. Voldemort was trying to throw him off, anger him, so he might slip and fall into his trap.

Well. That was not going to happen. Harry had too much to win and too little to lose for that.

Slowly, making sure to keep his eyes lowered, he fell to his knees again hissing out in pain from his leg. He made sure to put his most innocent voice.

“No, no please.” this is what he had rehearsed.

He could do  _ this _ , the scared, innocent altar boy who just wanted power not knowing exactly what it would cost him. It was supposed to help him trick the canine demon, make it underestimate him. So, once they were bonded, Harry would be able to make sure their new Lord would not do more harm than good. Despite everything that had ever happened in Little Whinging, Harry knew other people, cities and villages depended on their Lord's protection. He would never forgive himself if innocent people were hurt because of his personal vendetta. 

“I'm sorry.” He whispered “please, my Lord. I'm worthy, let me show you. I will do better."

“Show me?” Harry could no longer see him, but Voldemort sounded unmoved by his little display of willingness. “What do you know about bonding with a god, boy?”

Harry made sure to swallow loudly and arched a bit. He knew it made him look small and unsure. Good.

“I… I saw Dumbledore. With Grindelwald. Once, during the solstice.” He had seen them fuck, he didn't say. It wouldn't be very in character. He had read all about what it entailed, he didn't say, either. 

“Did you?” the tone was cold, detachedly amused. Had it been amused during his entire conversation? It felt that way. Harry caught a movement in the corner of his eye and when he raised his head the demon was right there. “Did you?” he repeated.

So this was it, then. The book hadn't exactly explained why sex was involved in the bond, but it had been very explicit in its instructions: it was necessary for the bond to form. And the human must  _ not _ lose himself before it was over. 

Harry took a deep breath, and lowered himself even more to kiss the hem of Voldemort’s robes. 

“I did.” He breathed against it, his lips moving higher to kiss the demon’s feet. 

He climbed higher and higher, making sure to keep his hands on the floor and his eyes closed. Ankles, knees, thighs. Harry left chaste little kisses all the way up its leg, trying his hardest to be the image of innocence. When his nose made contact with the bulge underneath the dark robes he made sure he shivered, as if unsure. Cedric, the son of a rich merchant that had visited the village some time ago and the only man he had ever been with hadn’t cared he wasn't a virgin when they laid together, but he wasn't sure how Voldemort would react. Better safe than sorry. 

A knee collided with his shoulder and he was kicked away from Voldemort in the blink of an eye. Harry landed on his good leg, but still felt a lash of pain when he was unceremoniously tossed into the floor.

“What the—” 

“Stand up, child.” Voldemort’s voice was cold as ice. Harry looked up at him and froze in place. He looked down right murderous. 

“I—" he started “I don't understand—”

“Up.” It ordered again, tense as a snake ready to strike. “Are you simple-minded as well as foolish?”

Harry rushed to his feet. His eyes never left the snake demon, and his pulse quickened under his skin. He tried to talk but didn't know what to say. Voldemort was just staring at him, again.

A thick silence started to build around them. Voldemort was the one who broke it.

“Did you think meekness would endear you to me?” it was a low hiss. Harry had preferred the silence “That you could trick me into choosing you? Making me believe you would be easy to manipulate?”

“I did not.” Harry defended himself quickly “I would never do such a thing.”

“Oh, you did. Of course you did. You are not at all as I expected, boy. Deceiving and scheming. That is… interesting.”

Harry didn't know what to say. What to do. Five seconds ago Voldemort seemed ready to tear his head off his shoulders yet now it was looking at him as if Harry was an interesting bug.

“Don't play with me, child. I will win.”

Voldemort took a step closer, and this time Harry's intake of breath was not at all for show. He knew he wouldn't be able to win in a fight with the demon. It would kill him, if it wanted to. Still, he braced himself and prepared to stand his ground.

Something about it seemed to dissipate some of the anger on Voldemort’s eyes. The demon kept getting closer and closer, and Harry could feel his nerves about to burn him from inside out.

Voldemort lifted a hand towards him. Apparently, Harry's little scheme was not enough to make it change him for some other villager.

Harry took it for what it was. Another chance. Start over, change strategy. Voldemort hadn't enjoyed the innocent act. Alright. He was still breathing, so everything was alright.

Harry closed his eyes. There was a finger on his cheek, cold as ice but smooth, unnaturally so.

“I can understand why he rejected you.”

He bit the inside of his cheek, rage burning low in his stomach. Yet, he didn't open his eyes, nor let his breath pause for more than a second. He would not be provoked into anger again. He was going to endure this, and then make sure he kept his head cool to assume the position as High Priest. It would not be easy. The book had been very clear about focusing. Control.

“But I can't believe he was able to resist temptation. Maybe he was stronger than I thought.  _ Look at you.” _

Harry did open his eyes at that, confused. The demon had done nothing but mock him, humiliate him, try to trick him… but whatever words were about to leave his tongue banished when he saw the raw look of want on the demon’s face. All he could do was gasp. It sounded obscenely loud in the dark cavern. Harry couldn't help but imagine how a moan would sound with the wet echo of the walls. That… was a change. It had never looked at Harry like that at any other time of their conversation. It seemed to come out of nowhere and it stole Harry's breath away. He wasn't sure anyone had looked at him like that  _ ever _ before.

He wanted to close his eyes. This felt too intimate, now. Dumbledore had not looked at Grindelwalds eyes when Harry had seen them together. They hadn't been talking, either. It had felt… detached. Business like. Something Harry could do, too. Now, with Voldemort looking into his eyes like he was seconds away from… talking again, it all felt way to close to reality for him.

If Voldemort could really read minds, he didn't care about Harry's little concerns. The finger on his cheek traveled lower and lower, making his breath catch when it almost brushed his lips. Voldemort caught his chin between two of his fingers and pulled it up and away, so the demon’s hungry lips closed on his neck.

A spark. Harry didn't know what was happening, but as soon as Voldemort touched his pulse a spark ran him up and down as if he had been hit by a lightning.

Turns out moans sounded really loud in the gold filled cavern.

“Can you feel it, Harry?” Voldemort was not stopping, his lips running up and down the column of Harry's neck leaving little, butterfly kisses as they went. If it was a mockery of Harry's own performance on his knees, Harry didn't really care at the moment “Can you feel the magic in your blood calling to me?” 

There was a hand in his hair, keeping him in place, not like he was going anywhere. There was also a hint of tongue, at the very end of his neck, right behind his ear after the words were spoken. Harry found himself burying his fingers in the dark tunic of the demon to try and anchor himself. 

“What?” his breath hitched and his mind was a bit foggy, but he had heard that. “Wait, what?”

“Son of a witch.” Voldemort was closer, closer, their hips would brush if Harry just… if he… “Son of a demon.” There were teeth on his neck and nails in his scalp when the words were hissed in his ear “Magic blood. You are a wizard, Harry.”

The world spinned for a moment. A wizard. What?

“Grindelwald was a fool. Cautious, but a fool. He must have known having two magic users in the town was dangerous, especially if one of them was out of his control… yet he let you live. And he didn't take you.  _ Weak. Foolish.” _

There was an arm around his waist, and Harry was slammed against the side of the altar, making him groan in the dark. Voldemort’s teeth closed right in the point between his neck and his shoulder hard enough to draw blood, and Harry heard the demon’s moan tangle with his own cry. 

It's tongue,  _ his  _ tongue, on the open wound made the spark tingle so hard it was very well near painful.

“What's going on, I…?” Harry should have told the demon to stop. This was not the kind of sex he had seen Grindelwald and Dumbledore do. The High Priest had not looked so… so… he didn't even know how to explain it. Harry had never gone to the sea, his family would never travel with him even if they could, but he supposed this was what people drowning would feel. He was trembling like a leaf, trusting the marble altar and the body in front of him to keep him standing. He couldn't feel his legs, not even the bad one. Magic, he thought.  His mother's books. The strange things that happened around him. Dumbledore keeping him close, yet forbidding him to stay as part of the church once he got too old. Grindelwald refusing him, yet… making sure he would never leave.

He was a wizard. 

Years ago, he might have not believed it. Now all he could feel was wonder. 

Voldemort cupped his head with both hands and pressed their foreheads together. There was blood on his bottom lip, Harry's blood, and he licked it up with a look of bliss in his eyes.

“Spicy.” He growled against Harry's mouth “Powerful. You are going to make me so powerful, little altar boy, aren't you?” 

Harry had the indecency to whine before he could contain himself.

The kiss was so messy Harry wasn't sure who had leaned into it first. He would like to say it hadn't been him, but that might have been a lie.

Wizard. Legends said those of magical blood, like fae, were more in touch with the magic on the land. That they were better for the gods. More energy, easier to access, but also dangerous for they were not bound to the laws of demons or mortals. They walked in the middle, wild and volatile.

Voldemort had spoken of two. That could only mean…

“Dumbledore,” he spoke in the space between their lips, before they crushed together again like waves upon the shore, and he forgot himself once more.”You said… another one… did you mean…?”

He felt the demon smile against his cheek.

“Do you want to be my High Priest, Harry? My wizard?” Harry knew that was the only confirmation he was going to get. Grindelwald had made Dumbledore High Priest because he was a wizard. “Show me how you worship your lord, child, and Lord Voldemort shall consider your offer. On your knees. You were so eager, before.”

Harry fell as if his own legs were aching to touch the floor the demon was standing on, the altar on his back and the demon before him.

“Humans, always calling ‘demon’ every god that is not their own. But that is going to change, isn't it Harry? You want it to change.”

The smug smile was back in place. Yet now Harry could see the flushed tone creeping up the demon's neck. Aroused. The old god he had summoned was aroused after kissing Harry only for a bit. Not that he himself was any better but the very idea of what was happening, what was about to happen, made Harry's lust-clouded mind clear. For the first time in years he felt powerful. Here on his knees, in front of a demon powerful enough to defeat their Lord Grindelwald,  Harry felt that spark dance beneath his skin and thought  _ wizard. _

Voldemort's eyes shone with renovated interest and once again Harry wondered if the demon read minds. 

It might have been the light, the power radiating from him, or just Harry's new found wonder but from this angle, the white scale-form of the demon almost looked enticing. He towered over Harry with ease, and the boy knew exactly what he wanted. He had practiced this. How to be efficient. How to make sure he would not disappoint in these tasks. What he had never planned for was the way his very being sang at the thought of being close to the demon.

The book had described the feeling of allure the gods would try and wrap their victims in, but  _ feeling _ it was so much different from reading about it.

“My Lord,” he breathed, ignoring the pain in his left leg as he bowed as much as the space allowed him. “My lord.” He repeated, looking up from beneath his eyelashes. He didn't try to kiss his feet, now. He didn't go up his thigh slowly and teasing, he didn't bump his nose against his bulge like a blushing virgin. The trick had been discovered and there was nothing to do about it. So Harry just went for it.

The fabric felt soft and almost liquid under his hands as they rested on the demon's low hips, and tickled him when he kissed it, right beside the demons cock.

“Shy?” was the only comment he received. The bastard had his hands behind his back, as if he was less than impressed with Harry's performance so far. Harry couldn't help but grin, maybe a bit more wolvish than intended.

“Eager?” as he pressed an open mouthed kiss as near the head of the cock as he could get. He was delighted to feel the fabric damp astonishingly fast under his mouth, and let his tongue lick a bit below to make sure he really got the head of its dick. The demons pupils were dark and hungry.

_ You hear me _ he thought, landing another wet kiss near the damped spot on the fabric  _  I know you do. I just wanted to let you know that you don't look that menacing when you are so eager to get your cock sucked. By a human. Kind of shameful, really. _

Harry wasn't sure why he had decided to tempt his luck again. Sometimes his mind just came up with things. Hopefully awful cheek wouldn't be what got him killed tonight.

“You  _ are  _ vile” Voldemort’s dark tone made him shiver.

“My lord” he repeated, no inflection in his tone at all. He sucked on the fabric, looking at him directly in the eye “Is this okay, my lord?” 

_ You can order me on my knees _ he thought, laughing  _ but you will also have to order me to suck your cock.  _ He smiled against his crotch when he felt a salty taste on his tongue. He was not going to escape the Dursleys just to fall into another nightmare. The bond between an ancient spirit and a High Priest depended entirely on the first contact. All of his mother's books had been clear about that. If you gave yourself completely then the demon would always be able to use you as their vessel. Harry wondered if that was what had happened to Dumbledore. If Grindelwald had kissed him, asked him to worship his Lord and Dumbledore had been star-struck enough to take the suggestion as an order. That would have made him little more than a slave, in the gods eyes. ‘Your wish is my command’, and from that moment forward it would be.

Well. Harry did not want that for himself.

_ I will, _ he thought while exhaling on the saliva-wet clothes  _ you know I will. Ask. _

Voldemort was looking at him with just a hint of annoyance. As if he hadn't expected his trick to work anyway, but was still not happy with having to play nice.

“Astonishing. Dumbledore really had you cleaning floors in here, when you so clearly belong in the cheapest brothels of the country.” he spit.

“You think me skilled enough to belong in a brothel?”

The clothes lazily hanging on the demon’s body shifted and contorted, opening themselves as if mist. They dissolved right in front of Harry's eyes like they had never existed, exposing a long string of white skin extending from Voldemort’s neck. His cock was pale, just the smallest hint of pink under the skin. The demon was at least half-interested in Harry's performance even if his face looked disenchanted. 

The smoke edges of the black clothes curled around the exposed member, as if daring Harry to get any closer. He took a breath, and dared.

The skin was absurdly smooth under his tongue as he licked around the shaft, down into his balls, and up again. Voldemort’s cock jumped a bit as Harry went a bit too close to where both of them wanted him to be. Harry had never wanted to suck a dick that much before, but he felt it. Little sparks of magic every time the tip of his tongue found skin. He asked himself why he didn't just give in. Voldemort had  _ basically _ asked him to perform a complete sexual favour. Wasn't that as good as actually saying it? Wouldn't that be enough? Something animalistic inside of him wanted to taste his come bad enough to almost cry. 

_ Don't obey requests  _ he hissed to himself  _ You don't obey offerings, Harry. _

His nails bit into Voldemort’s hips when he sucked his sack and both groaned. He was pulled from his place by a hand in his hair, and he let out a pathetic whine. He felt cold, without the magic running through him.

Voldemort looked murderous.

“Stop this childish behaviour. You really think-’

“Ask me.” Harry was begging. He could feel his insides twist, his lips cold and his hands trembling. He didn't care how he looked. “Please,  _ please  _ tell me to.”

He was trembling, and he pleaded with more than his voice. His eyes, his hands, all of him felt as if he was about to snap. He had tasted magic and he needed more. He couldn't give in. 

He wasn't sure what made Voldemort say it. Why he looked at Harry for a long moment and then gave him what he wanted. 

“Suck it, if you want it so badly. That's the first order your Lord has for you, altar boy.”

Harry went in like a starving man. He moaned when the magic lit him up, and licked and sucked all over the shaft. He pressed his tongue against the slit and he tasted salt and something strong.

And he swallowed him as deep as he could go.

Harry heard the demon moan above him, and the hand in his hair tightened. Voldemort thrust into his mouth with a quiet breath, and Harry looked up. The demon had one hand in Harry's hair, and the other resting on Gellert’s altar. He towered over Harry more than ever, and had the most wicked smile in his lips. 

“He should have put you on your knees. Look at you.”

Then he thrust again, and Harry gagged. When the demon sped up Harry whined and held on to him, not knowing if the magic running through both of them was what was making him cry out or if  _ this _ could really bring him that much pleasure.

He felt the salty taste at the end of his throat and somehow knew he could make the demon come like this. Something in him was delirious, lust-clouded and eager.

Voldemort yanked him up again, paying no mind to his protests and forced him to stand up. Harry's legs felt like jelly, and only the altar at his back kept him up as he tried to ask what had he done wrong. He cried out as in pain, trying to go back to his knees.

“Harry,” Voldemort called to him, cradling Harry's face in his hands “ _ Harry.” _

Harry looked at him then. He wanted to ask what was going on, but his body ached. He needed  to go back to his knees, knowing deep in his core that whatever was happening to him will be over once his lord came in his mouth. The magic running through him while he was on his knees was the only thing that mattered to him, now.

Voldemort forced their foreheads together again, and Harry clawed at his chest, the exposed skin, and sobbed, conflicted and disoriented. 

“I know darling, I know.” The demon tried to calm him down, petting his head and whispering to him, holding him close yet so, so far. Harry was almost crying. “It's hard, resisting. It was foolish, wasn't it?”

Resisting. That cut Harry in the middle of yet another whine. Resisting?

“You were doing so well…”

_ That _ sobered him up. He looked into Voldemort’s eyes, still confused and needy, but a spark of recognition in his eyes. The bond.

Voldemort smirked, so close to Harry that the boy could see his slit pupils. 

“Ah, there you are.” And the demon claimed Harry's mouth as if it was a trophy. 

The kiss was even messier than before, Harry still too shaken and drunk on the magic to properly return it. Voldemort just kissed and kissed, mapping Harry's mouth with his tongue and brushing his long fingers over his cheeks, neck, hair, as if claiming ownership of every single part of him. And Harry arched into him, suddenly aware of his erection. 

“Bond to me, child. Obey my orders, while they honor our contract, and I will bring you power, I will bring you bliss.” Right against his lips.

Voldemort bit his neck again, more gently now, and that cold tongue of his lapped up what remains of blood it could find from the previous wound. Harry hadn't noticed before but it was cold wasn't it? As chill as death. But that didn't distract Harry enough to not notice the way it had been phrased.  _ Obey orders _ . 

That… that was exactly what he had wanted.  _ More. _

He stared at the demon in disbelief. Was there a trick? The way Voldemort had phrased it, it wasn't even a plot hole. The demon was actually offering him the possibility not to obey certain orders. Their bond was strictly about Harry providing Voldemort life source. The way Voldemort had talked made it possible for Harry to refuse almost every single order but basically lying with him. It was too good to be true. 

His mind was clearing out. He paused, the chill of the cavern making him shudder. It had been so easy to get lost in this being. He had thought he could have some control, that the book had exaggerated how hard it would be for a human to resist. He had been so, so stupid. He had been seconds away from ending up exactly like Dumbledore. Worse, even. 

He felt himself blush in shame. It had been so pathetic. Harry had just crumbled in Voldemort’s hands in a heartbeat.

… And Voldemort had stopped him, and got him back in his right mind.

This demon was  _ mad. _

“Why did you do that?” he barely whispered, not even bothering to explain what ‘that’ meant. He was afraid to ask, afraid of himself. And terrified of those little sparks dancing around his skin every time Voldemort’s mouth closed on his open wound. 

“Lord Voldemort knows lots of things, child. Lord Voldemort  _ sees. _ ” the demon breathed against the wet skin of his neck before kissing it again. “Look what you did to Gellert when he tried to control you with force. You got so bitter… after a bit of a rough treatment…”

“ _ Rough”  _ Harry cried in outrage. “Rough? That beast fucking  _ crippled me!” _

He twisted against Voldemort’s arms trying to push the snake figure away from him in a flash of rage. How dare Voldemort call it rough. How dare it make it sound so petty, and childish, and…

Harry shook himself free from the hands holding his face in place and snarled. He had never felt as angry as when he was faced with Old Gods. First Grindelwald, who had made his blood burn in hatred all those weeks he had spent in bed, unable to move at all. And now Voldemort. Maybe something about their magic made Harry more volatile around them? If he really was a wizard, would it be so strange that being close to magical beings made him more unstable than usual?

Maybe. Harry only knew that his fists were curling and something inside him was  _ blazing _ . From rage, passion or a nasty mixture of both, he couldn't really tell. 

He opened his mouth, not knowing what to say, just wanting to scream at Voldemort again. But he choked on the sound as Voldemort’s death-cold hands closed around his neck _and his chest burned, as if all that rage had really tried to escape him and Voldemort had trapped it on it's way out.

“That's not polite.”

The demon’s voice was cold as ice, and he unceremoniously slammed Harry's smaller frame on the broken altar. The boy tried to fight himself off his back as Voldemort loomed over him, kicking him. Before Harry could land a blow on him, Voldemort waved his fingers. Suddenly, Harry's legs started to feel heavy and rigid. He couldn't move. A heartbeat later he realized he couldn't speak, either. 

Voldemort pushed aside one of his ankles, and grabbed the other one, making space for himself in between Harry's legs. Now, Harry was terrified. Exposed and defenseless, as Voldemort studied his face, one of his hands still tight around his neck. 

“Humans.” The hand tightened, and Harry would have choked out loud if he could. “One gives them a hairbreadth of liberty and they try to take your whole head.”

Voldemort sounded strangely detached. He spared one last look at Harry's fearful expression before turning his attention to the boy's leg. 

“Do you know why I brought you out of the trance, Harry?” The demon's voice was deceptively soft. He pushed back a bit to look at his leg, to see the scar. And then, out of the blue, “I could cure you, you know?”

Harry's heart beat so, so slow.  _ What? _

The horrid scar went all the way from Harry's ankle almost all the way up to his waist. The skin was torn and raised, the thick lines that ran all over the leg curling and intertwining in a way that made the leg look almost deformed. Harry hadn't looked at it in weeks. He felt it every day, but looking at it made him twist in disgust. Yet Voldemort, all freezing hands and matter-of-fact tone, was starting to trace it with his fingers. 

“It was cruel of him. You only wanted help, didn't you, boy? Only wanted him to accept you, or let you leave. ‘ _ Please, please my Lord _ ,” Voldemort laughed, “‘ _ Please, don't force me to go back to _ them _.’  _ And this was his answer. _ ” _

He knew.  _ He knew.  _ But that couldn't be possible, right? Harry's mind was racing, trying to understand how the demon could even fathom—

“Lord Voldemort Sees everything, child.” The hand around his neck pulled him up painfully, and Voldemort’s face got so close Harry could smell him. “Lord Voldemort saw the moment he looked into your eyes. You cannot hide anything from me.”

Harry couldn't breath.

“I know how you begged to Dumbledore to not be retired as an altar boy. How you cried, on your knees, asking for him not to dispose of you, not to send you back home. You feared what they would do to you, when you no longer belonged to their Lord. Lord Voldemort saw. Lord Voldemort  _ sees _ .” The demon hissed against his skin, red eyes staring right into green. “I see in your eyes how he refused, and how you came into the temple at night, asking for Gellert.”

He had. After Dumbledore had refused to consider his case, he had pleaded to their Lord himself. He couldn’t go back to the Dursleys. Not after he had tasted a life without them. He had prayed all night, invoking their Lord, asking him for help. He only needed a word from Him and Dumbledore would accept him.

He had already decided that, starting that very night, if Dumbledore hadn't changed his mind it would mean Lord Grindelwald didn't want Harry in his service. So Harry would run away.

He was not going to return to the Dursleys. He would take his chances with bandits, wild beasts and hunger, and flee before he was forced to return to them. He had nothing holding him in Privet Drive if Dumbledore stopped mentoring him.

_ Let me serve you, in any way you want. Or, if you don't want me, give me your blessings, I beg you. Give me a sign. _ He had been so stupid. 

“And I know how you left the temple that very night,” and Voldemort’s voice was sweet, as he took his hand off Harry's neck and touched his cheek, stroking it in mocking affection, “and I see your God giving you your sign in the form of that cousin of yours waiting for you outside with those other boys. And doing  _ this.” _

There were nails digging in his thigh, tainting the wound. His body shook, trying to come out of whatever trance Voldemort had put it under, his whole being tensed in pain.

It hurt. It throbbed. As it had done that night, when Dudley and the other boys had beat him up. When the baker’s son had used one of the long wooden tools they used on the mills on his legs. As it had done when they had left him bleeding on the cold floor all night. As it had done every day he had been forced to stay in bed. 

It would be a miracle if he ever walked again, the doctor had told Dumbledore. The High Priest had happily informed Harry that he would be sure to report his relatives of his situation, so they could prepare accommodations for him in case he was forced to remain in bed for the rest of his life. 

It hurt almost as much, now. 

And, as soon as the scream came, Voldemort took his freshly bloodied nails out of Harry's flesh.

“He didn't want you in his service, and he would not let you leave.” Voldemort hissed in his ear. “That was the answer your God gave you. But I'm sure he intended for you to never  have been able to move again at all. Your magic saved you, Harry. Just as it cursed you.”

Harry knew. Somehow, he had always suspected Grindelwald had wanted him to break as much as possible. Maybe it had been the way Dumbledore had been so ready to accept the fact that Harry might never move again. How his mentor had looked at him every time Harry made any progress in healing. How he had looked at him in the eyes and told him that even if he could walk again, he would never be able to do so for long periods of time. He would never be able to  _ run. _

Yes, Harry could believe that Grindelwald had wanted him to stay in that bed.

“I could fix you...” a whisper. Harry's heart started to bear faster and faster. Cold fingers smoothed the pain on his thigh, caressing the bleeding zone as an apology. 

Voldemort’s breath ghosted over his neck.

“... but I won't.”

If Harry could move, hell would have broken loose. His body did start to shake, and his eyes shone with almost murderous intent. This had been a horrible idea. Once this was over, he would summon some other god. That canine demon he had tried from the very beginning, and make sure to  _ crush  _ this snake bastard.

“I won't,” Voldemort continued, brushing his lips against Harry's skin, over his pulse point and down to his clavicle. “for the same cruel reasons he broke you. Look at you, Harry. So full of power you can't control. I can't have you leaving this town, boy. He didn't want to kill you, because of  _ Dumbledore  _ and how your magic fed the lands that gave him power. But he couldn't let you go. You couldn't be allowed to leave, free, powerful and able to bond with some other god that could try and take his lands. 

I won't fix you, because once we bond I won't allow you to flee to that little forest of yours to plot against me. I won't let you try and disappear into the night. You will remain right  _ here _ , and I will make sure you  _ feel _ my ownership every second of the day. You are mine now Harry.  _ And you can't flee from me. _ ”

The boy froze in horror. This had been an awful idea. 

Slowly, Voldemort’s fingers found the golden rings around his ankle.

“But I have seen what you are capable of when you feel betrayed, haven't I?” he laughed “I'm sure Gellert tried to control you. Your magic surely kept your plans hidden from him. And that's why I'm offering you a treat. I could have let you lose yourself in the bond, Harry. I still could. I could show you bliss like you have never known, use you and let you come back as a slave. Imagine Harry, being trapped inside your mind with just a word from me. Never having a say, nor a vote. Just a little doll allowed to think when your Lord is far away enough from you…”

Harry knew. He had read that much. It was a terrible fate.

“And I, being a merciful Lord, am willing to pact with you. I will bring you back from the trance, as many times as needed, and you  _ will _ remain loyal to me. No games as you did with Grindelwald, nor deceiving, as you tried to do here. We will consider the leg a bit of an incentive. After all, I can't really trust you, can I? You little traitor”.

Harry didn't want to. Moreover, he refused to. He had decided he didn't want to bond with the demon any longer. It had been stupid and now it was proving to be beyond idiotic. 

Voldemort looked at him. Slowly, the edge of his mouth curled.

“I will teach you how to use your magic. How to use it  _ properly _ . No other Lord ever will. They will be too scared. No one in their right mind would let a human learn proper magic outside potions and minor hexes, but I will. I will teach you how to enslave the elements and bring down rain, how to create light and how to kill in the blink of an eye.”

… Harry shouldn't feel this tempted. There was no way Voldemort would do that. Why would he? Wouldn't that make Harry dangerous? 

“I will keep my word. I'm not scared of you, Harry. I'm counting on us to work together, after all. Aren't I?”

The smile said something completely different.  _ I'm not scared, you would be no match. _

_ “... So.  _ Do we have an agreement?”

It was said so casually. Harry just glared at him for a bit, trying to catch any tricks in the proposal. Voldemort seemed truthful, but Harry knew better than place any blind trust in any god’s words. They were all liars, he had learned that much.

Still. It’s not as if he could really refuse. If he really was powerful, Voldemort would not let him live to be a threat. Harry would die before he left the cave unbonded. 

And then there was the promise about magic. Probably a lie, but what if it wasn’t? No human would ever regret being taught. Especially not Harry.

_ Yes _ , he thought as loudly as he could,  _ yes we do. _

Whatever curse Voldemort had placed on him was lifted as the demon got closer to him, a smug grin taking over his smooth features.

“‘Yes my Lord’, Harry.” the grasp on Harry's neck moved to his chin, Voldemort’s eyes shining like fresh blood. “Where is your devotion to your new deity?”

Harry's breath caught. There was something sinister about the way Voldemort had said those words. Something provocative.

“Yes, my Lord.” And Harry should not feel as aroused as he felt. He had been threatened, bribed and manipulated. Yet, feeling the breath of the creature so near him made the very blood in his veins rush. The same dark lust that had him on his knees crying for Voldemort’s cock coiled dangerously on his stomach. “But don't make me regret it, I would hate being forced to kill my most reverenced being in this world… again. My Lord.”

“You are despicable.” The demon, the  _ god _ laughed. Then he pressed his lips against Harry's and drowned any response the boy could have come up with. 

It was more brutal, now. Teeth and spit, as if Voldemort had decided to kiss Harry's rebellious mind into submission. He was, unfortunately, succeeding. 

Harry's hands, free from the body-binding curse now roamed free across Voldemort’s chest and shoulders, trying to get a hold of his black tunic to anchor himself. But the clothes dissolved around his fingers like smoke, as if the god was wearing actual darkness to cover his body. The hand on his thigh moved higher, the long fingers almost brushing against his waist, and whatever sound he made was swallowed by, now, his Lord.

Damn it. Harry wanted the black mist to go away. He especially wanted his own tunic, a thick yet soft white material off his own body. As soon as possible. Now, to be exact.

Voldemort laughed against his tongue. And his dark clothes dissolved. 

Harry had never seen anyone as pale as the snake-god. He almost looked as white as milk compared with Harry's tanned hands. Skin and small scales mixed all over his torso, down  to his navel and the cock Harry could feel barely pressing against his own. Without thinking, he leaned forward to taste Voldemort’s chest. The scales were smooth under his tongue.

He tried to wriggle out of his own tunic. It was very important that Voldemort could touch his skin. Harry wasn't very sure why, and the frantic way his mind insisted on it surely meant he was falling under the lure again, but he didn't care. Voldemort undid the knot that tied the white tunic to the back of Harry's neck and rested his chin on top of the boy's head, letting Harry lick and kiss as he pleased. His hands caressed Harry's back making him arch into the demon and mewl.

When Harry started to get restless, writhing in Voldemort’s arms, the demon cupped his head and kissed him slow, murmuring sweet words in the space between their lips to calm him down from the lure. 

“You are doing so well. Such a good boy, aren't you? All that anger and cheek, and under that, all this potential. A diamond in the dirt, my darling. And all for me.”

Harry followed his lips every time they parted, like a starved man.

“We are going to be so powerful, you and I.”

It felt as if there were hands all over him. Caressing his face, scratching his sides, forcing him down until his back was against the cold stone of the altar again. Down and down the back of his thighs, softly pressing the skin right behind his balls. 

Voldemort spoke. Harry couldn't understand anything, the words just a  hiss in his ear. His back arched as the fingers on his perineum started to rub it in small, teasing circles. He tried to fight the lure, terrified of drowning in it, but his cock was rock hard and heavy on his stomach and he couldn't think.

“... and I will make you beg,” Voldemort, kissing his jaw, switched into english from time to time and soothing in his voice made Harry's blood sing “... after, when I'm done, you will show me how you properly worship your Lord…”

A deep sound escaped from Harry's lungs as Voldemort grasped his thigh hard enough to leave bruises. The hand curled around the curve of his ass, and for a split second Harry was sure Voldemort would force him on his stomach and just fuck him bent over the altar. Voldemort laughed in his ear.

The rest of his clothes got tossed aside. Harry’s hips were pinned against the stone as fingers delicately traced his inner thighs, opening his legs as they moved. He panted into the demon’s mouth when he lowered to kiss him. There was something cold and wet covering Voldemort's fingers when they rubbed over his hole, teasingly pressing in just enough to make Harry feel it. As if the demon only wanted to hear him protest before they entered him. Once they did, Voldemort openly laughed in his mouth.

There was nothing to hold onto. Voldemort’s skin was smooth as marble, and Harry's hands were greedy. There was not a place he didn’t want to touch, to own. Yet he only could only grasp his back and shoulders and Voldemort moved his finger in and out him tortuously slow, kissing him into calmness whenever Harry got agitated. He added a second one, and a third, one of his hands light against his cheek. 

“Breath for me.” He said,  licking into Harry's, skin and mouth right after. “I'll take care of you, Harry, just breath. I know you can fight it.”

Harry wasn't sure he wanted to. He wanted the fingers to go faster, Voldemort's teeth back on him. He wanted his hips free so he could fuck himself on Voldemort’s fingers if the demon didn't give him what he needed.

Voldemort laughed. 

“I know what you need.” He muttered, so low Harry almost couldn't hear it. “Look at me, boy.”

The red eyes pulled him back, his eyes widening. The lure felt intertwined with his bones, too powerful to fight it. His nails bit into Voldemort’s skin.

“Stay, Harry. Right  _ here _ .”

Voldemort pressed against his prostate, stretched him up and caressed his insides. He drank every sound Harry made right as they were leaving his lips with open mouthed kisses. 

“When... time… thissss” Voldemort kissed his skin, followed by a long hiss Harry couldn't understand. “Won't you?”

Harry just nodded. He had no idea if Voldemort was talking about making him come on his fingers alone or actually make Harry beg to be fucked, and right now he didn't care. His hips kept trying to move to drive the fingers even further in, unsuccessfully, and he would have agreed to anything the deity wanted if Voldemort just let him do it, damn it. He tried to fuck himself down again just to find the fingers leaving him. Empty and confused he tried to protest, just to find a hand over his mouth and those red, red eyes on his.

Voldemort was chanting a spell in that hissing language he used. When he entered Harry, his red eyes were glowing. 

The was magic in the air. It crackled along Harry’s skin, it spilled over the altar, thundered between their joined bodies. It lit up Voldemort’s eyes and burned Harry's insides. And the demon chanted, his eyes never leaving Harry's. 

They were a lighthouse in the middle of Harry's storm. He could feel the magical lure trying to swipe him away, to pull him down into the abyss of strange pleasure, and he knew he could not allow it. So when Voldemort started moving he closed his legs around the demon’s waist and pulled him deeper. 

“Bond with me,” his voice was shaking and he didn't care “because I will not serve.  _ My Lord _ .”

They crashed like wind and water in a storm. The magic around them was electric, and Voldemort’s chants were only interrupted by Harry's hungry mouth. The stone altar under them cracked even more. Voldemort sang against Harry's body and Harry's hands moved over him as a prayer. But every time Harry felt close to cumming, Voldemort would slow down.

“I will give you all you want.” He would say, eyes shining. “But you have to wait, my child. The spell must end.”

And as controlled and calm his voice sounded, his hands were tracing Harry's skin. His mouth would forget the spell to dive into Harry's chest, neck, mouth. His hips moved so slow, and yet he wouldn't stop. Harry's mind protested at the pace, but still he almost smirked. He was fighting against his body and  so was Voldemort. He wasn't sure any of them where winning. 

When Harry finally came his vision blurred. He moaned into Voldemort’s mouth and heard him speak in his hissing language as he fucked him through his orgasm. He kept going, chasing his own pleasure in Harry's skin. As Voldemort came  Harry felt his body burn in what he was getting used to know as magic.

They breathed against each other, sweat making their skins slide smoothly. When Voldemort pulled out Harry cried in protest. He never knew he could feel this empty. He never  _ had,  _ before. Not like this. As if Voldemort held part of his very being.

He could feel something sticky between his thighs getting cold when his Lord's hips moved away from him.

His Lord. He had to get used to calling Voldemort that. They were bonded, now.

Cold fingers looped into the golden chains on one of his ankles as Harry felt a devastating exhaustion wash over him. He barely could hold his eyes open, and his breathing slowed down. He couldn't move. He was too tired, his legs boneless.

“Don’t fall asleep, child.” Voldemort muttered against his sweaty hair. “We are not done yet.”

And pain exploded all over Harry's body.

He opened his eyes in panic, and saw it. The golden chains were melting under Voldemort’s fingers. And the candent, molten gold was climbing up his injured leg, burning his skin as it went. 

The smell was atrocious. His leg was smoking and Harry could only feel white pain filling his mind. He convulsed against the altar but was restrained, and he squirmed and screamed until he heard Voldemort’s voice again.

“And the final touch.” A sliver of even more pain, and then quiet. The pain stopped as abruptly as it came. Harry gasped, trying to get some air in his lungs, his limbs still spasming under whatever magic Voldemort used to keep him still. His throat was raw, but before he could scream bloody murder at the demon he felt his leg. It was warm. It was completely painless, in a way that it had never been after Dudley and his friends beat him. It was also covered in gold. 

His golden shackles had melted into his skin, following the lines of his scar. Harry followed the gold lines that spread all over his leg, up to his thigh, wide-eyed. It looked like art. 

He looked down at his thighs, trying to touch it. His inner thighs were covered in a black substance that could only be the demon’s cum. He shuddered, and a red dot fell on his thight. As he looked, still a bit out of his mind after the sex, the pain and the utter disbelief, another drop fell next to the first one. Realization hit him and when he lightly touched his forehead his fingers stained red. 

_ What the fuck. _

“What the  _ fuck _ .” He tried to scream, but he was still shaking too much and his voice broke “What did you do to me?”

“Don't get so agitated Harry, I'm just making things easier for you. We couldn't have you running around with Gellert”s mark on you, could we?” Voldemort was still naked, so close that if Harry raised his hand he would be able to touch him. “And about that scar… well. It will make things easier for you.  _ Nagini.” _

Harry was sure that last part had not been said in English. Before he could give it more than a thought, a giant snake came out of the pitch black shadows around the cave. It came uncomfortably close to Harry and he jumped out of the way.

“This is Nagini, Harry. My familiar. I hope I can trust you to protect her as she will do with you, in my absence. I'm sure you were used to Gellert’s bird. A bloody difficult temper it had.”

The snake moved its head around and Harry was now sure some thing had been irreparably damaged in his brain. Somehow, be felt as if he knew exactly what the snake was saying. She had eaten Fawkes.

Their Lord Grindelwald, a bird-based god had had a Phoenix as his familiar. This snake, as big as it might be, just couldn't have eaten it. It just wasn't possible. It was a Phoenix.

“Don't underestimate my power, Harry. A little bird is no match for my Nagini. Has your kind so easy forgotten me?”

Harry's head was spinning. He kept looking at the snake, sure that he could understand it's irritated hissing. He had no idea what Voldemort was talking about 

“Forgotten? What do you even mean by that?” 

Voldemort’s face curled in displeasure. The smoke around his ankles stilled, as if it was also about to strike Harry like a snake. 

“Humans,” he spit.

_ Humanss _ repeated the snake  _ Tasty, tasty and stupid, master. _

Harry's eyes grew. What the hell. Fawkes had never talked. He felt exposed and naked, covered in drying, black cum in front of now two monsters that were getting pissed off for some reason he didn't understand. 

“Has no one ever told you about me, Harry? I was here, many years ago. I was great, greater than any other pathetic god in this realm. Greatness inspires envy, Harry. Envy engenders spite, spite spawns traitors. Cowards, rats, all of them. I used to feed traitors to Nagini, during the war. She has a taste for human flesh now, forgive her manners.”

The snake laughed. Harry was sure of it. He was also lost. There hadn't been any war in the last hundred years. And it definitely had never been a war against a  _ God  _ ever before. Humans didn't fight gods, nor demons. Gods fight demons invading their territory if they ever happen to be any. Humans did not fight Gods.

Voldemort was delirious. And now Harry had bonded himself to him for the rest of his life. Great.

“Those who once served me rose against me. Turned the humans devoted to me against their Lord and killed the ones who resisted. They came for me, with all they have. And I was ready for it all. All but your mother. The witch.”

Harry stared. And stared some more. His mother had died in an accident, many years ago. Everyone had told him so, he had seen the grave himself. Dumbledore himself had accompanied him to it more than once.

“I was not expecting Gellert to have two wizards at his side. They are very rare, you know? Magic people, surviving till adulthood? Most gods slaughter them before they learn how to talk. Too powerful, too unpredictable. They can resist the lure, like you just did. I thought I had killed every single one in Britain until I saw her standing next to  _ Dumbledore _ .” 

The demon was mad. There was no other explanation. The whole town hated his mother. Even Dumbledore made his best efforts not to pronounce her name, the shame of having a witch in town with a kid way too heavy on his shoulders as High Priest. Harry had seen the disgust in his eyes whenever Harry had tried to ask about her. It was not unlike his aunt’s.

“So I went to kill her, your mother, and she tricked me. Sacrificing herself, she pushed me back to the vortex between realities… and then, before I left, you entered the room Harry. No more than a baby. I could have killed you, I wished to. But I saw you and I knew what you were.” Harry trembled as Nagini moved closer, circling Voldemort’s feet and getting way too close to his own in the process. This, all of this, was madness. “And when I fell from your world I knew you were alive Harry, on the other side. A boy that might just be magic enough to open the door between our worlds… and i waited for you, Harry. To grow and find the little book I knew she owned. I spared you. You have always been mine.”

Harry didn't even know what to think. Nothing felt real, nothing but the pulsating warmth inside of him, pulling him towards Voldemort. The bond, and the idea that Voldemort couldn't be possibly telling the truth.

Voldemort's fingers were soft against his inner thigh and Harry trembled involuntary. It felt so unfairly good. When his hand came up, his fingers were sticky with black cum.

“You are even better than I expected, darling.” The demon pressed his thumb against Harry's lips. Harry wondered if containing his impulse to stick his tongue out and lick them clean mattered if Voldemort could clearly see how much he wanted to do it. He felt sick. Voldemort was talking about murder and war and  _ his mother _ , and all Harry could think about was how good it felt being close to him felt.

The center of lips were stained black when Voldemort removed his fingers. Harry could feel the wet cold when he breathed. 

Voldemort was looking at him as if he was about to bend him over and fuck him again.

“It's the bond.” He said, soft as a breeze. “You will be difficult, once I come back. It's tempting, to take advantage of it as it lasts. Too distracting for your own good, Harry.”

He didn't move. Harry could see the hungry look in Voldemort’s eyes, and could feel the bond calling for him at the silent promise in his Lord's words, but he didn't move, either.

They studied each other, as if both of them were fighting the urge to crash again.

“I will rise again today.” Voldemort finally said, his voice echoing in the cave. “I will reclaim what was stolen from me twenty years ago, and bath in the blood of all those who dared defy me.” he broke into a smile, wicked and broad. “And your dear parents will be proud they created the world's downfall. The Dark Lord will fall upon Britain like the shadow of death over every traitor to my cause. And you will help me, won't you Harry?”

Voldemort was laughing again. It was a soft sound, deep in his chest, almost a pleased purr. Very slowly, Harry started to realize what he was saying. The Dark Lord. Harry had read about him, in his mother's book. A handwritten note, at the edge of a page. The Flight of Death, she had called it. 

Harry hadn't understood, in the beginning. The Flight of Death was what people called the time when the plague broke loose. Millions of people fell ill, the climate went crazy and the whole country lived in fear of not waking up the next morning. Families broke, witches were hunted, men and women burned to purify the lands. The Dark Ages, they called it.

Nagini brushed against him, and Harry flinched. No one talked about those times. Harry himself only knew about it because the temple had recorded the events during the dark years. Harry had looked for them after reading the strange name in his mother's book.

The people used to think that if you pronounced the name of the spirit of death it would come knocking on your door. Harry's skin crawled.

“You… you are a monster.” Harry cried, his voice too low. And late, far too late.

The mist around Voldemort’s ankles hugged his legs and climbed over his body, covering him again.

“Surprise,” he said “Now go, little altar boy. Go tell your brothers who your new Lord has chosen for his Priest. I need to have a chat with your dear Dumbledore. Tonight,  _ He Who Must Not Be Named _ rises again.” He smiled one last time, that wicked smirk of his, and disappeared.

Harry was left there, blood and dark cum drying on his skin with a snake coiling around his ankles as the bond diluted inside him. A horrifying realization crushing him.

_ What have I done. _

**Author's Note:**

> *procceeds to pass out*  
> Also, anyone who clicked on this with the 3am tags/summary? braver than the marines


End file.
